


Belowdecks

by text_orc



Category: Skycrawl
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Condoms, F/M, Flirting, Hand Jobs, Hook-Up, Horribly Misused Naval Terminology, Teasing, Trans Female Character, Vanilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28614189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/text_orc/pseuds/text_orc
Summary: In a near-empty bar in a quiet backwater port town, two very different skysailors find distraction, and pleasure, in each other’s company.
Relationships: Xanthe Simeon/Galva Vulpiti
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Belowdecks

The third sun was finally making its retreat, the lights in the Moonward Isle skysailors’ lounge rose to compensate, and, for Captain Xanthe Simeon, the night had finally begun in earnest. No messages by alldusk meant no change to her schedule – the _Devil’s Advocate_ would set sail tomorrow as planned, and, until then, her time was her own.

First, time to let her hair down, yanking the tie loose and turning a semi-businesslike ponytail into a bouncy shock of fuchsia; the dye job was starting to fade and expose flashes of her natural brown, but she rather liked the way it looked. A quick shake of her head cleared the stray locks from her hazel eyes. Then she fed a half-sylve bit into the auto-bard, queued up a few old favourites, and called out for a spiced cocoa. It was ready by the time she reached the bar, and Gregory slid it across the counter with a smile. As a longtime patron, Xanthe’s first drink every night was free. As Gregory’s former crewmate and occasional bunkmate, so was her second.

The lounge was quiet tonight. Xanthe’s crew were all either on standby aboard the _Devil’s Advocate_ (and probably standing down by now), or running errands elsewhere on the Isle. The dock hadn’t been busy, either, with only two other big ships and the usual gaggle of barges and skiffs, and none of the dozen or so sailors in attendance looked familiar to her. In the absence of exciting-looking company, she took a seat at an empty table between the auto-bard and four red-faced dust-trawlers, having a spirited, confusing argument about clouds. Pointless bickering for its own sake was practically a sport in the dusting business, and Xanthe was a keen spectator. It was best not to stare, but she could listen in and chuckle into her cocoa at the highlights.

“Look, you can’t argue with it,” said one. “If altostratus don’t have veins, then what were up with that thick altostratus bastard we flew through two days ago?”

“That was a _cirro_ stratus, you muppet!” countered another.

“Didn’t feel very cirro,” grunted a third. “Where were the wisps?”

“Instruments said…” began the second trawler.

“Where were the _fucking_ wisps, Julian?” bellowed the third.

Xanthe tried to stifle a laugh, but she doubted they’d hear it anyway over the general uproar that followed. To her disappointment, it died down fairly quickly as the fourth trawler, who was either in charge or just louder than the rest, imposed some sort of order.

And then, to her delight, someone saw the social machinery that was keeping these four from arguing, and casually tossed a wrench into it.

Heavy footfalls approached the table behind her. “Evening, gents.”

Xanthe pulled the compass from her pocket and pretended to check her reflection in its shiny silver case, angling it to get a good look at the newcomer. She caught his middle first: a battered serpentskin overcoat, reinforced with iridescent chitin plates, hung confidently from a thick, powerful torso.

“Couldn’t help but overhear your discussion, and, well, I’m no expert, but I’ve done my time in the skies…”

Xanthe tilted the compass back just a little and finally got a look at the man’s face. He was pretty. Oh dear, he was very pretty indeed. Perhaps a few years on her twenty-nine, and pleasingly weathered by it. His crew cut flattered him, the thick, dark beard couldn’t conceal a strong, stony jawline, and his terracotta skin had a faint bluish undertone that suggested a pinch of orc in his genetics. And he was smiling, an utterly shameless grin that screamed “I’m about to cause problems”.

“You sure you’re dealing with stratus there? ‘Cause I’ve been through some altocumulus that are bloody riddled with dust.”

Then he looked directly at the compass, and, for just a moment, Xanthe could’ve sworn she saw him wink at her.

“Just a thought,” he said. “Have a good evening.”

He was striding back towards the bar before they could reply, and one of the trawlers ventured, “Actually, I bet it was altocumulus. Hard to tell at that –”

“Marion, if you say ‘at that altitude’ one more time,” snarled Julian.

“Nah, nah, he has a point,” said the one who’d been a mediator before. “Youse never been stuck in an alto-C before? Those ripples?”

“There were no godsdamn pissing ripples!”

That would probably have set Xanthe off laughing again, but she’d tuned out a little, because the stranger who’d reignited the argument was making a beeline for her table, drink in hand.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, hand planted on the back of the chair opposite her. “Slow night, wouldn’t mind talking to someone other than the wall.”

Xanthe nodded. “Faster night now,” she said. “That was bad.”

“In my defence, it was also very funny,” said the stranger, settling into his seat. He was bigger than she’d realised, even sitting down – he probably had a good half foot on her. He extended a big, solid hand across the table. “Galva.”

“Xanthe.”

His handshake was iron-firm. “You been here long?” he said.

“Few days,” said Xanthe. “My employer’s been having some pirate trouble, so I’ve been on call to divert. Looks like a quiet one this time, though.”

Galva scratched his beard. “Didn’t have you pegged as a company woman.”

“Nor me,” admitted Xanthe, “but my girl took some knocks and we needed a sponsor. Contract’s up in a few weeks, though.”

Galva winced. “Big repair bill?”

“Pretty,” said Xanthe. “The _Devil’s Advocate_ ’s a tough old bitch, but when she fails, she fails.”

Galva’s eyes widened. “That’s your ship? That big red hybrid with the claw sails?”

“Oh yes. Six years and counting under my watch.” Xanthe smiled proudly. “Sorry, she’s not for sale.”

“Fuck, no, she’s way beyond my means,” said Galva quickly. “But I just thought… gods, she’s gorgeous. Tough, sharp, just a little bit dangerous.”

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” said Xanthe.

“Yeah,” said Galva, “and her ship looks pretty good, too.”

Xanthe had the following thoughts, in no particular order:

_I should have seen that coming._

_Uh-oh. I’m definitely going to end up making out with him. At minimum._

_Change the subject, quick, before he sees you’re flustered!_

It was too late for that, alas; her pale cheeks flushed a crimson almost as deep as her flight jacket, and she fidgeted a little as she cleared her throat. His wry little smile didn’t waver. “What’s your line, then?” she managed to ask. “That’s a nice coat you have there. Bounty hunter?”

“No! Fuck, no,” said Galva, recoiling in feigned offence. “This is an heirloom. I’m just a trader. Small-time, not your calibre – it’s just me and my little brother.”

“What’re you hauling?”

“Oh, y’know, light goods,” Galva shrugged. “Construction gear, small-batch minerals, nothing too heavy. I take whatever I’m given.”

Xanthe nodded. “Right,” she said. “And what are you _actually_ hauling?”

Galva scoffed, then leaned in closer. “Depends. Are you an inspector? You have to tell me if you’re an inspector.”

“That depends,” Xanthe said, leaning in to match him. “Are you a dirty fucking smuggler, Mr Galva?” In truth, they both knew that any Barony inspector who made it as far as the Moonward Isle was either hopelessly lost or hopelessly crooked. It wasn’t exactly a free haven – the mayor had a few standards – but, for anything short of actual piracy, the port authorities tended to have bad eyesight and worse memories.

They stayed close for a brief, charged moment, then Galva laughed and threw himself back into his chair, with enough force that Xanthe heard the wood creaking. “Alright, you got me, Captain,” he said. “I’m a dirty fucking smuggler. Guilty as charged.”

“And the coat?” probed Xanthe.

“Nah,” said Galva, “that’s legit. And pretty useful. When the locals think you might be a merchant prince slumming it, they don’t ask so many questions.”

“Well, then.” Xanthe drank up the last of her cocoa. “I think that concludes my investigation. Oh, but – just one more thing.”

“Hm?” Galva raised an eyebrow.

“What are you drinking tonight, lowlife?”

The titan opposite Xanthe eyed his glass warily. “Something harder than this,” he said. “What do you recommend here?”

Xanthe pursed her lips. “I know just the thing.”

***

The lounge was even quieter now. The trawlers had finally agreed to disagree and shambled back to their barge for the night, and even Zach and Monisha, who came here every night to play cards and seemingly never did any actual sailing, had retired early. There were four people left: Gregory the bartender, a surly satyr in the corner nursing his fifth glass of persimmon wine, and two sailors, perfect strangers to each other, who’d been talking uninterrupted for the last hour and a half.

“Sweet mercy,” rumbled Galva, setting down his mug. “And you drink this for fun, do you? It’s not some weird ascetic thing?”

Xanthe laughed, and this time she didn’t mind flushing a little. As it turned out, Galva, despite his size and manner, was something of a lightweight, and it was adorable.

“It’s only a flaming apple,” she teased. “I bet you’ve had far stronger belowdecks on the… what’d you call it again?”

“The _You Shall Know Us Only By The Spaces We Leave When We Depart_ ,” said Galva, wagging a finger like an overenthusiastic teacher.

“Yeah. On there. You’ve hidden stronger stuff than this under the floorboards.”

“Partaking of the goods,” said Galva, “doesn’t get you many repeat customers.”

 _Partake of_ my _goods, Gal_ _v_ _a_ , said Xanthe’s brain, which she quickly squashed down. “I never got an answer, by the way,” she said. “What are you carrying?”

Galva laughed, a deep, warm laugh that she wanted to dive into like a swimming pool. “I’m off to the Biarchy,” he said, “with forty dozen copies of a book they’ve just banned. _The Vice of Saint Alexandra_.”

“Ooh,” said Xanthe. “Heretical?”

“Most heretical book in a generation, says the archpontiff.”

Xanthe wolf-whistled. “Save me a copy, won’t you? I love a little apostasy.”

“I don’t think most of ‘em will be reading it for the theology,” smirked Galva. “Saint Alexandra had a fair few vices, it seems.”

“How many of them involved her getting her tits out?”

Galva thought for a moment, then said, “Three quarters or so.”

“Illustrated, this book?”

“Lavishly.”

“So it seems to me,” said Xanthe, “that what you’re actually hauling is, in fact, pornography.”

“One man’s pornography…” Galva began.

“You’re slippery,” said Xanthe, reaching across the table to prod Galva in the chest. He felt good to poke. Nice bit of yield. “You’re a trader, then you’re a smuggler. It’s theology, then it’s porn. Slippery like a serpentskin coat.”

Galva held firm, giving her a sleepy, even smile. “Serpents are pretty dry, actually,” he remarked. “No slime, they just…” He pantomimed a vague wavy motion with his hands, but broke into a giggling fit at his own attempt before he could finish.

“Fine. Then you’re slippery like… something else,” said Xanthe, calculating the pause carefully for maximum suggestive tension. She settled back into her seat and folded her arms. “Am I ever getting a straight answer out of you?”

“No idea what you mean, Captain,” Galva said, eyes meeting hers. “I’ve been perfectly clear.”

“In some respects,” said Xanthe. “If I had any doubt you were coming onto me, you’ve certainly put that to rest.”

“Good,” said Galva, quirking an eyebrow. “Is it working?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” said Xanthe.

“True enough,” said Galva. “Hey, when did you say you were shipping out again?”

Xanthe grimaced. “Tomorrow,” she said. “By noon, if all goes well, which it probably won’t.”

“Such is life,” huffed Galva, leaning back again. He was even prettier all stretched out like that. On display, almost. Xanthe had to restrain herself from actually licking her lips, but the sentiment was probably still clear on her face.

There was a brief, charged silence.

“Why’d you ask?” said Xanthe.

“Well,” said Galva, “I wanted to know how long we had left. Y’know, to keep doing this.”

“This as opposed to…” Xanthe trailed off, instead pulling her chair in as far as she could and stretching herself out across the table.

Galva spread his hands evenly as he came in to meet her. “You tell me.”

Xanthe reached forward and traced a fingertip along the outline of his beard. “Slippery,” she said.

Their first attempt to kiss was cut short as they both tilted their heads the same way, bouncing back and giggling, but the second more than made up for it. He wasn’t as good a kisser as her – she was a true master, confirmed by many testimonials from her friends and lovers – but fuck, he was good enough. His beard tickled just the right amount, and he was good with his tongue, not too passive, not too aggressive.

“You can do that again,” said Galva, a little awed, when they broke apart. So Xanthe did. The second time was hungrier, a kiss that carried powerful, reflected intent, and his hand was in her bright hair within moments, holding her close. Not gripping or grabbing, mind – holding.

He’d done this before, she could tell. Meet a pretty stranger, slip into her attention and make her skin prickle with want, let her do the same to him. Practised. Seasoned. She could feel her heartbeat everywhere, including the beginnings of a twitch in her breeches – _down, girl_ , she thought, _you’ll get yours_. Then her head drifted to whether Galva might be having similar stirrings, and that _really_ got her heart jumping.

It was hard to pull back, and Galva looked almost disappointed when Xanthe did, like he could’ve done this all night and been satisfied. She folded her arms and grinned. “Well?”

“I’m sorry,” said Galva, “but there’s not much room on the _You Shall Know Us_. My brother has his boyfriend along. But I could get us a…”

Xanthe cut him off. “What’s my name, Galva?”

“Xanthe Simeon,” he said, puzzled.

“My full name.”

Realisation dawned in his eyes. “ _Captain_ Xanthe Simeon.”

“You’re damn right I am,” grinned Xanthe. “Care to visit my quarters?”

As they left, she paused to exchange a meaningful glance with Gregory, who nodded and gave her a thumbs up. He knew the meaning well by now: “I’ll pay my tab in the morning.”

***

The journey back to the _Devil’s Advocate_ was short but unsteady; between the slight buzz of alcohol, the clumsy excitement, and some high winds when they made it outside, they both almost tripped a couple of times on the way. The ship’s service lanterns were lit, but the crew windows on her flank were almost all dark. The crew were probably getting the sleep Xanthe ought to be, she thought, and she hoped she didn’t deprive them of too much.

Rosa was on night duty, and saluted Xanthe as she approached – Xanthe didn’t run an especially strict ship, especially not for a friend as close as Rosa, but she’d picked up the habit in naval school and never quite shaken it. “Who’s this?” she asked. “You going to bed with him, Cap’n?”

“Galva,” said Galva, giving her a cautious, confused wave.

“Aye,” said Xanthe, grinning from ear to ear.

Rosa lifted her goggles and squinted at Galva, who helpfully stepped a little further into the light. “Nice,” she said at last. “He’s not coming with, though, is he? I’ve only provisioned for the crew.”

Xanthe shook her head. “Man’s got places to be. I’m just first on his list.”

“Good, good. Take care, Cap’n.” The bosun pulled her goggles back down and returned to her gear checks.

“Night, Rosa,” called Xanthe as she led Galva to the stairs.

Xanthe’s cabin was just below the bridge, and deceptively spacious given the _Advocate_ ’s sleek hull. She locked the door behind her and threw a switch to ignite the arc-lanterns hanging on the walls, casting a warm, inviting orange glow on the room. It was a mess, even more than the standard ambient disarray that clung to Xanthe wherever she sat down, but the bed was clear, made, and generously sized.

“Forgive the mess,” she said, crouching to unlace her boots and kicking them off into a corner.

“We’ll only make more,” said Galva, following suit.

Xanthe caught Galva between her and the door and kissed him again, this time making a play to get that coat off him. He let it slide off his arms, but caught it before it hit the ground, laying it on the edge of her bed. Off came his suspenders, dangling down at his hips, and the tight grey tunic that had shown off his shape so enticingly; now Xanthe had an unobstructed view, at least from the waist up. He was hairy, with a thick trail of fur starting at his navel and curling down towards… well, it was hard to make out in the half-light, but she’d felt it against her, and she’d liked it.

Just as she was reaching for his belt buckle, though, Galva put a hand on her wrist. “Not fair,” he grunted. “Think it’s my turn.”

That was just fine by Xanthe, and she let him peel her flight jacket off her, and the shirt underneath. Her breastband wasn’t very secure, done up in a hurry, and one tug unravelled the whole thing; Galva stepped back and took a moment to admire her. Her tits were small, subtle, even, but Xanthe liked them on her frame, and Galva, from the flash of hunger in his eyes, seemed to concur.

When he hooked his thumbs into the sides of her breeches, Xanthe laughed and said “hey, what happened to fairness?”, but she didn’t object. They were tight, and took some effort to pry down, but, when she stepped out of them and the underwear that had come away with them, Galva finally had her naked.

Her cock twitched a little, not quite fully hard but definitely full and excited. Galva looked down and smiled nervously. “Do you like to be, um, played with?” he asked. “Sorry, I might be a little unrefined, I’ve never actually…”

Xanthe pressed herself to Galva, took his hand, and stood on her tiptoes so she could whisper right into his ear. “Touch me,” she said, “and listen. You’ll work it out.”

Galva planted a hand just below her breasts and gave her a gentle push. It wasn’t enough to knock her over, but she pretended it was, falling back theatrically onto the bed. He followed, and she slipped naturally towards him as his thick, strong body dented the mattress.

“Alright,” he said, and kissed her again right as his fingers wrapped around her.

Xanthe’s cock was like her breasts, modest, but it felt even smaller in a hand so much larger than her own. She quickly found that she didn’t mind. True to Galva’s word, it took a little while for him to get the motion right. At first he tried to stroke it as he would his own cock, and found limited success, but he adapted quickly to her texture and slight softness, and soon enough he had her sighing into his mouth, voicing each breath a little more than the last as he found a rhythm she liked. It was a little slower than she’d be on her own, but she was always in such a hurry. Galva made her take her time, and she was loving it.

His grip was careful but firm, and, when he spat into his hand and rubbed that in to ease his stroke, Xanthe was shivering against him. She was starting to tense up, ready and eager to cum, and Galva could tell.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Xanthe whimpered. “But, fair – ah – fair warning, I’m going to…”

When the almost imperceptible tightening of his grip confirmed that he wanted her to cum for him, she did. Galva hummed with satisfaction as she bucked up into his closed fist, and, as the tremors subsided and he pulled it away, he smiled at how much of a mess she’d made. Her shaft and his palm were both covered in silvery slick, and he brought the latter to his lips to taste her, a sight that made even a tapped-out, post-orgasmic Xanthe bite her lip with excitement.

“How does it…” she ventured, voice wobbling.

Galva smacked his lips and held out his hand to her. “Interesting. Here, you try.”

She’d tasted herself before, of course, but somehow it was so much better mingled with the salty tang of Galva’s skin. She wriggled contentedly, then shifted in closer to Galva, nestling in as best she could while trying not to get cum on his trousers. His arm curled around her back, holding her for a few quiet moments.

“You sure you hadn’t done that before?” she said softly.

Galva laughed, his whole body rumbling pleasantly against her. “You flatter me,” he said. “I’m sure I’m no match for your own fingers.”

“Fair,” Xanthe conceded, “but I can’t kiss myself, can I? Or cuddle myself afterwards.” Her fingertips danced idly on his belly, slowly drifting downwards. “Or…”

“Hey,” said Galva. “You know you don’t have to, right? I could lie here plenty longer.”

“Come on, Galva,” said Xanthe. “You’re a gent, but we both know you didn’t come here just to give me a handy. I mean, look at you.”

Lying back, with better lighting, the fat, inviting bulge in Galva’s trousers was finally visible, and it was exquisite. He was _responsive_ , too. Even just trailing an experimental fingertip across the taut fabric made him tense palpably.

“Let’s even the score a little, hm?” Xanthe suggested.

“Go on, then,” said Galva, with a playful roll of his eyes. “If you must.”

She undid Galva’s belt one-handed (one of her narrowest but most useful skills) and unbuttoned his trousers just far enough to yank them and his underwear down at the front. His cock sprung free with a vigour that made her flinch back in surprise, but, once she had a good look at it, she couldn’t help but touch. Galva was hardly superhuman, but his cock was respectably long and, more to the point, _thick_. Dark skin gave way to a brighter, shiny head, and he had a slight upward curve to him, which Xanthe realised she’d never actually tried before. Well, here was her chance.

A little pearl of precum was forming at the very tip, so Xanthe puckered her lips and sucked it cleanly away, drawing a poorly stifled grunt from Galva. Now that his cock was wet, it looked all the more inviting, so she couldn’t resist dipping down for another quick kiss. And another. And then she kissed it again and stayed, inching down, pivoting herself around him so she could look him in the eye as her lips sunk down over his length. This turned out to be futile, as he’d thrown his head back to let out a proper, uncensored moan. Hearing that, she couldn’t be too upset.

Xanthe felt Galva’s hands in her hair again and smiled, as best she could with a mouthful of him. Again, he was gentle, but she could tell he was finding it tougher to resist this time, from the subtle fingertip twitches against her scalp. She worked him slowly, almost lazily, toying with him; she had one hand wrapped around him, tugging gently in time with her mouth, and she pulled away every so often so she could give him a few mischievous, teasing strokes and watch him buck.

“Fuck,” sighed Galva, sinking deep into the mattress as Xanthe kissed and sucked away his tension. “Your mouth feels so fucking good, Ca- Xanthe…”

With a wet pop, Xanthe drew back and froze, leaving Galva’s cock twitching against empty air. “What did you just say?” she chuckled.

“I…” Galva lifted his head to look at her, and seemed to be grabbing some composure back. “Hey, it was the heat of the moment…”

“Did you just almost call me _Captain_ , Galva?” Xanthe’s eyes widened and she gave his cock a couple of quick, taunting tugs. “Some outlaw you are!”

“Slip of the tongue!” Galva protested, though he was grinning too. “I don’t take orders from anyo-o-ooooone…” He fell back against the pillows and grabbed the sheets hard with his free hand as Xanthe dipped back down and took him deep, kissing the base of his cock with a single stroke. This was her party trick, and it worked like a charm on Galva. She held her pose for just a few moments, then pulled away, panting for air and leaving him even slicker and shinier than before.

“I like it,” she said. “But you can call me whatever you like, y’know. Xanthe. Xan. Or far fouler. I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

“I like Xanthe best,” said Galva, easing himself up onto his elbows. “Pretty name. Rolls off the tongue.”

“Just like you roll onto mine,” said Xanthe. Not her best line, but perhaps if she went down on him again they could just gloss over it. Galva put a finger to her forehead, though, pausing her an agonising half-inch from the gleaming, tempting tip.

“You’re good with your lips,” he said.

“So good you’re making me stop?” said Xanthe, puzzled.

“Let me finish,” said Galva. “You’re good with your lips, _but_ , if you’re open to it…”

Her ears pricked up and she tensed. “If you’re open to it” could be the start of something exciting or a total mood-killer.

Galva cleared his throat. “Xanthe,” he said, “would you like me to fuck you?”

That settled her. “Galva,” said Xanthe, crawling up alongside him, “I’ve been thinking about how that cock would feel inside me since I first set eyes on it.”

He looked back at her, wordless, thrilled.

“That’s a yes,” she added.

Galva slid off his side of the bed and squinted at the floor, picking his way through the mess, a vaguely comical yet still enjoyable sight with his shaft bouncing a little as he walked. Xanthe was about to ask what he was doing, but just then he dipped and hauled his coat from the floor, rifling through the pockets. A little brown paper bag. A dark green glass phial. She smiled. She had a soft spot for partners who brought their own gear.

“How do you want me?” Xanthe purred. She was already turning over onto her hands and knees, though; that was _her_ favourite, and she hoped the display might excite Galva. She looked good from behind, blessed with a strong, taut ass and equally strong thighs to hold her up; she even liked the way her cock looked like this, half-hard again and swaying gently beneath her.

Galva laid a hand on her hip, and she arched her back sensually in response. “This will do just fine,” he said. “Now then, let’s get you warmed up…”

The next thing she felt was a single thick, slick finger pressed directly against her pucker, and this time, the arching of her back was involuntary. The lube was a little cool, but it warmed quickly beneath his touch, and it felt _good_ , just the right balance of smooth and sticky – not unlike cum, she thought, which made her dig her fingers into the mattress at the very notion. She supposed that, if Galva had access to contraband porn, high-quality sex gear probably wasn’t that big a divergence. Then he pushed that fingertip inside her, just up to the first knuckle, and suddenly she didn’t especially care how he’d gotten hold of his hardware.

He took his time preparing her, perhaps a little more than he needed to, but her occasional growls of “fucking tease” got him moving again, and before long he was as deep as his finger would reach, moving it in a subtle come-hither motion inside her. She enjoyed the sensation, but she had a feeling he was trying to get her off again, and right now that wasn’t her priority. No, what she needed was to _get fucked_.

“Galva,” she whined, “I can’t wait any longer,” but, just as she finished speaking, she heard the rustling and tearing of paper as he unwrapped a condom – all this while still fingering her, showing impressive dexterity in those big, rugged hands. Her ass tensed around nothing when he finally pulled back, crying out for something to fill it again, but she didn’t have long to wait.

Again, he was careful to a fault as he moved, bracing her against himself with both hands and easing forwards almost painfully slowly, but this time she needed it. Xanthe was no stranger to cock, but Galva’s had to be one of the thickest she’d had, and it stretched her, not painfully, but enough to drive her wild. She grabbed a pillow and clutched it close, moaning into it louder and higher as he inched deeper until, finally, he was buried to the hilt. That closure, the feel of his belly resting against her ass and his balls grazing hers, brought a wonderful, overwhelming feeling of fullness, and a sigh of relief. In a sense, this was the start of what she’d wanted. Now he was fucking her, unambiguously.

Galva started to pull back and then drive back in, just partial strokes at first, but caution quickly gave way to his own lust. He felt _huge_ behind Xanthe, a powerful engine slowly working itself up to speed, and soon he was drawing a soft “oh” with each thrust, grazing her sweet spot just enough to give her little shocks of raw pleasure without overloading her. He was strong, unyielding, and increasingly aggressive – his grip on her waist tightened in short bursts, never quite hurting her but certainly making her feel pleasantly manhandled.

“Fuck me, Galva,” she gasped, unable to think straight enough for anything more complicated, and he complied. She was trying not to make too much noise, partly for the crew’s sake and partly because she didn’t want to drown out Galva’s voice. He was a growler, it seemed, letting out little excited or desperate rumbles when a stroke hit him especially hard, and Xanthe liked the thought of getting him so out of control, stripping away his slipperiness and baring his rougher, want-filled self. He was doing the same to her, of course, hence the tension in her limbs as her body teetered on a half-stable foundation of constant touch. Her cock twitched and jumped almost in time with his strokes, leaking more silvery precum onto the sheets. She usually couldn’t get off solely from penetration, but it could get her pretty damn close.

Of course, that was mostly academic if somebody, say, reached around to touch her as they fucked her, which was what Galva did right as she was wondering whether to warn him. He didn’t even really have to stroke her off as he’d done before, just give her a nice firm surface to rub against; his hand, already slick with lube, was a perfect candidate, and Xanthe found herself moving with him, letting his thrusts nudge her body forwards and grind her against his palm. Her breath caught in her throat, her balls tightened, and another orgasm caught her almost off-guard. This time it came with the extra kick of her ass tightening around the hard, unyielding length of Galva’s cock, and, though she didn’t have much left to give, the overall sensation was all the stronger for it.

She was always far more sensitive right after cumming, so she was grateful that, although her tightening around Galva hadn’t gotten him off by itself, it had clearly gotten him close. She could feel it in his stance, a faster, more erratic stroke with a note of desperation, and his voice was rising in accord, a chorus of grunts and muttered curses that built to one long, continuous groan. Again there was a tightening inside Xanthe, but this time it came from Galva, pulsing and pumping and finally, just as she’d been thirsting for, _spilling_.

He held his position for a few seconds after the final spurts died down, resting a little more of his weight on her, then patted her ass twice and pulled slowly back. They both winced a little as he withdrew.  The moment his hands left her body, Xanthe collapsed flat on her stomach, not even caring about the wet patch she was lying in, and Galva again eased himself down alongside her. He stroked her hair, mercifully with his non-lubricated hand.

“What’s your verdict, Captain?” he asked.

Xanthe twisted her head round to look at him, smiling sleepily. “I think I should spend more time with dirty fucking smugglers.”

***

It was not an endless night of passion. They were both tired, after all, and neither wanted to stay up too late; they had business in the morning. So they  cleaned off, gulped down some sourleaf cordial to rehydrate, and simply lay together naked, talking, laughing, kissing. The closest they came to a second round was Xanthe reaching down to give Galva’s cock a few appreciative little strokes as they drifted off together.

Xanthe set an alarm for first dawn, but ultimately they slept in until second before she finally admitted that she had to get moving. She and Galva dressed together, shared a final kiss against the cabin door just before she opened it, and then went their separate ways to take care of their respective errands on the Moonward Isle. It hurt, more than she expected. She wanted another day with him, or perhaps another week; it wasn’t love at first sight or anything, but gods, he was  _fun_ .

Xanthe paid off her bar tab, grabbed a coffee to wake her up properly, and called at the stratograph exchange to make sure there had been no last-minute changes of plan. She did have a message from her corporate masters, but it was just a confirmation of her existing schedule; she envied them for having the money to burn on such non-messages.

When she came back to the  _Devil’s Advocate_ to give the all-clear for departure, Rosa intercepted her on her way to the bridge. “Your man came back about an hour ago,” she said. “He had to leave, but he said he had something for you.”

Xanthe ran to the starboard side and peered down at all the little ships below. She’d never identified the  _You Shall Know Us_ , but a sleek, charcoal grey propeller barge was in the process of disembarking. The name on its hull, though she couldn’t make it out at this distance, looked very, very long.  It was already well out of its berth, about to spin up to cruising speed and  set sail for the Biarchy.

Rosa ran after her. “Captain,” she said, thrusting a brown paper package into Xanthe’s field of view.

“Thanks, Rosa,” said Xanthe, stowing it in her satchel. “Alright!” she said, louder this time. “Byron, how’s the hold?”

“Leaky as ever, Cap’n!” barked Byron.

“Salty, how are the winds?”

The navigator sniffed the air and held up a finger for a few seconds. “Good enough,” they said.

“Good enough!” crowed Xanthe. “That’s what we like to hear. Spin her up, Adi. _Devil’s Advocate_ , let’s make some money!”

Once they were well underway, Xanthe sat down cross-legged on the bridge and opened the package. Inside was a book with a plain black cover, bound, it seemed, by an enthusiastic amateur. She opened it, and on the title page, beneath the badly off-centre coverplate, was a little note written in a heavy, stiff hand.

_Little light reading for your trip. Until the winds. – G.V._

“Until the winds” was skyfarer shorthand for “until the winds bring us back together”. Xanthe smiled. She had a hunch that she hadn’t seen the last of this scoundrel. Perhaps, some other time, she’d head back to the Moonward Isle and see if she could find Galva’s supplier, track him down that way. But that would have to wait. They had a shipment to deliver, and, right now, she had an appointment with her bed, the rest of Galva’s lube, and _The Vice of Saint Alexandra_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I might do more with these characters – this was meant to be a self-contained one-shot, and hopefully it still stands as one, but I think I like Xanthe and Galva a little too much to let their stories end here. Constructive criticism, as always, is welcome and encouraged.


End file.
